A Dark Night
by 88KeysOfSadism
Summary: On a dark night in one of the not-so-great parts of Gotham, a sacrifice is made, and a secret is told. Death Fic.


**So I got bored one today and produced a lame death fic with a cheesy ending (see story below). Yeah. This is actually my first death fic. Pretty amazing, right? For anybody who's read all my other stories, this probably surprises you. But whatever...**

**And yes, "A Dark Night" was the best title I could come up with... That's terrible LOL**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own this stuff... Dick Grayson would have shown up if I did... **

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It was dark and raining. That was a bad combination, especially for Gotham City. And I was in one of the not-so-great parts of town. In fact, it was one of the worst, with some of the highest crime rates of the whole city.

Why was I here?

The train I'd been on had broken down. It was the middle of the night, and work had run late. I'd been the only one on the train. Instead of waiting for it to get fixed, I decided to try and get a cab. After all, Gotham City never sleeps.

If I'd known where I'd been, I would have stayed on the train. But I'd been too tired to focus, or to read any street signs, so now here I was, wandering down a dark street with only one street light – which was on the other side.

I heard the sounds of fighting and yelling and laughing from down the street. My mind jumped to one conclusion:

Gangs.

Maybe it was because Terry had been part of one. Maybe it was because of the way Warren died. Maybe it was because of all the times I'd seen them street fighting. Maybe it was all of the above.

It didn't really matter, but I knew one thing: I was not getting involved in a street fight.

In hindsight, my choice of action was stupid. But at that point in time, it had seemed like the right thing to do.

I just stood there, waiting for them to finish. Then I realized something else:

The fighting was happening above me.

I looked up to watch, but saw nothing. I heard people talking, but couldn't quite pick out what they were saying.

Then I heard gunshots. One, two, three gunshots rang out, and I heard someone crying out in pain at every one of them. Then I heard a crash in the alley next to me, and someone shouting their agony.

I raced into the alley, not quite sure of what I was going to do once I got there. Why I hadn't done this earlier, I don't know, but I reached into my purse and pulled out my cellphone, turning it on so I could use the light from it to see who had fallen. The answer shocked me.

It was Batman.

He'd landed on some piles of trash, and looked as if he were trying to get to his feet, rolling around to his stomach and grunting in pain. I wanted to help him, but at the same time, I was afraid. I knew about the Batman. I didn't know how he'd react. He was clutching the edge of a dumpster, using it to support him.

"Are you alright?" Yes, I asked the stupidest question of all time.

His head snapped up as I spoke, and the eyes of his mask widened. He looked completely confused. Then his head snapped towards the sky.

"No…" he muttered.

I heard the sound of a gun being loaded above me, and at the same time, Batman shouted out something that sounded a lot like, "MOM! NO!" He tackled me into the street, and I heard a gunshot. We hit the pavement, and I felt his body jerk.

I heard laughter, and the sound of a helicopter flying away. Batman stayed on top of me. He was actually pretty heavy. Something hot and wet was spreading across my chest, and looking down, I could see it was blood. Not my blood.

His blood.

"Oh my gosh," I whispered. I rolled him off of me – with extreme effort – and he just limply rolled aside, like a rag doll. Then he started coughing.

Blood was coming out of his mouth. He turned his head to the side, and crimson stained the sidewalk, reminding me of the tie-dye project I'd done in third grade.

He turned back to face me, his eyes half closed. He moved one hand onto his chest, trying to push down. It looked like it cost him a lot of effort.

I looked down, and saw that he had three bullet holes in his suit, and blood was seeping out of each one. There was blood coming through another point too, but no hole. The realization of what had happened suddenly hit me:

He'd tackled me, and taken a bullet in the back for me.

And I mean a bullet. These weren't marks of normal guns. They were the guns I'd seen used in my childhood, the ones with actual pieces of metal that would fly out.

Batman's breathing was becoming raspy, and he reached up a hand to touch my face. His touch was light and, I realized, bloody.

He muttered something, but I couldn't hear him.

"What?" I whispered.

"Take off my mask." His voice was hoarse, and it looked like it hurt him to speak.

I did as he told me to. My fingers traced around his neck for the edge of the mask. I raised his head off the concrete with one hand, and pulled his mask off with the other. The face underneath almost made me drop his head in surprise.

"Terry?" My voice had gotten higher with the whisper.

He wore a smile on his face, even though his eyes held pain. Sweat caused his hair to stick to his forehead, and blood was dripping down his face.

"Hey, Mom," he rasped, smiling at me.

"Terry? Oh gosh, no. Terry!" I raised my head to the sky. "SOMEBODY CALL AN AMBULENCE!" I shouted.

"Mom…"

"Shhh, it's okay honey. I'm here; I'm going to make sure you're safe, just hang on."

"Mom, I should have told you sooner," he whispered. I looked down at him. He was blinking furiously, as if keeping his eyes open was difficult for him.

"No, it's okay." I tried to reassure him, but I could tell it wasn't working. He slightly moved his head back and forth, wincing as he did so. He started to cough again, blood dribbling over his chin.

"No, it's not."

"It's fine, Ter." He sagged slightly in my grasp. I was running out of time. He was running out of time. "SOMEBODY! PLEASE! HELP ME!"

"Tell Matt I love him," he whispered.

Tears were forming in my eyes, and I let them slide down my cheeks. "Don't do this, Terry. It's okay, just hang on. SOMEBODY! ANYBODY, PLEASE!"

"Tell Dana I'm sorry," he muttered, "And tell Bruce it's not his fault. This is going to kill him." He almost laughed, but it turned into a racking cough, blood spewing out of his throat.

"PLEASE! CALL AN AMBULENCE!" My sobs could have reached God himself, but nobody on this street was listening. Not a single soul came to my aid.

"Mom." His hand touched my cheek again, and I looked down at him. He was struggling to keep his eyes open, I knew it. His mouth was still arched in a slight smile. "Mom, it's okay. It's fine. There's nothing you can do…"

I shook my head, tears clouding my vision. There had to be something, anything.

He was coughing again, and he groaned when he finally sagged back from the coughing fit.

"Mom?" His voice level had dropped dramatically. It was barely a whisper.

"Yeah?"

"I love you, okay?"

I closed my eyes, trying to smile as tears leaked out of my closed lids. "I love you too, Terry."

I felt him relax in my arms, heard him breathe out one clean breath.

Then nothing.

His eyes were still latched onto mine, but I saw something in them I hadn't seen for years.

Peace.


End file.
